


and in each of its flames a sensual fever

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Huddling For Warmth, Shameless Smut, Therapy Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 15:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16452647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: It is hard to believe it has only been one day since the heating system broke; it feels much longer. She is aware it would have been wiser to cancel her session altogether, but her patient can be quite unpredictable when it comes to any change in their routine.





	and in each of its flames a sensual fever

Bedelia’s fingers feel numb; she makes a cautious effort to prevent herself from closing the hands into a comforting ball. Despite the small space heater warming the office, the cold seems to have seeped through her bones and settled in her core. It is hard to believe it has only been one day since the heating system broke; it feels _much_ longer. She is aware it would have been wiser to cancel her session altogether, but her patient can be quite _unpredictable_ when it comes to any change in their routine.

She apologised for the lack of heating and the provisional substitute, but Hannibal just waved her concerns about his comfort away. Instead her words caused him to focus his attention on her; she could feel him watching her, more carefully than usual, gaze infused with worry, waiting for any signs of her distress.

Absentmindedly, she clenches her fists for a mere second; she corrects her posture at once, resting the hands idly on her lap, but it is surely enough to apprise Hannibal’s scrutiny.

“Are you all right, Doctor?” he asks slowly, his eyes alert, studying her silhouette seated opposite him.

“Yes, I am fine,” she responds at once, hand reaching to toss a loose strand of hair over her shoulder as a way to reposition her attention. Or perhaps her patient’s.

There is a brief flicker in his eyes, but the crystal-like caution remains, sharpening his gaze even when she asks him a question, shifting the focus back to him. He is the _patient_ , after all, even if the word feels more like her personal shield than his official status.

The hour will be up soon, she encourages herself, and then she will be able to take a long, hot bath, heat up her bedroom as much as she can and wrap herself in warm, fleece pyjamas. She suppresses a wince at the thought of fleece fabric; it is not her usual choice of attire, but she has learned the hard way that her habitual satin won’t do, not until the heating is restored.

Her eyes glance at the watch, a habit rather than an actual need to check the time. They both know precisely when their hour ends; it always leaves something unfinished between them, lingering on their hearts, but now it is swallowed by the cold overpowering Bedelia’s senses. Still, she offers him a choice of wine, the last part of their ritual. He opts for white, probably more fitting for the less than room temperature setting.

“How long has the heating been out?” he asks, almost too casually, while grazing the stem of his glass, an obvious tell.

“Since yesterday morning,” she responds tentatively before taking a sip of her wine. It briefly warms her throat, but the sensation dissolves almost immediately, leaving the cold sliding anew.

“Has someone serviced it?” he prods further.

“Yes. Unfortunately, the repairman did not have the required part in stock. It needed to be ordered. He will be back to fix it tomorrow.” Even without looking, she can sense his brows furrow.

“There is a snow storm expected this evening,” he now turns to face her, wine forgotten.

“Yes, I am aware of that,” she glances back at him, briefly, but prefers to keep her focus on the window and the grey landscape of her garden, waiting to be dressed in white. “I have a few heaters, I can manage,” she states firmly, not sure who needs to be convinced more.

Hannibal does not comment, but she senses the thoughts gathering behind his wary eyes; the storm might prevent the repairman to come at all. She has considered it herself but does not allow the bother to take over her mind.

“Perhaps-” he starts hesitantly, “you should stay with me tonight.”

“Thank you, Hannibal, but I do not think that would appropriate,” she wields her shield again, even if now it feels heavy and useless.

“I am merely worried about you, Doctor,” he presses on as she knew he would, “You should not be here by yourself in this cold house.”

“I can manage, but I appreciate your concern,” she says courtly, now meeting his eyes, her stare firm enough to put an end to the discussion.

But her armour feels weakened by the draining cold and she is relieved when they finish their wine. She walks Hannibal to the front door, biding him goodbye and closes the door on his still worried face. The last of her composure crumbles and her body shivers as she rushes to her bedroom.

By the time she leaves the comfort of her bath, the predicted storm begins to advance, dark clouds gathering on the horizon, turning the evening into night at once, wind howling in despair at the sudden change. Soon, first flakes begin to swirl behind her bedroom’s window, but Bedelia pays no attention to it. She snuggles in her bed, extra blankets providing her with shelter, but she finds no comfort. The house no longer feels like her safe harbour, filed with foreign emptiness which settled alongside the cold, infusing all the corners. She has never felt lonely here before; she does now. Pushing the foolish notions aside, she attempts to bury her attention in reading.

She is so focused on her book and distracting herself that she barely hears the doorbell. Clearly, her mind is playing tricks on her; no one would venture out in this weather. But the bell sounds again. Perhaps the repairman managed to obtain the part early, a glimmer of hope passes through her mind, but she knows it is unlikely; he did not look like a man who would go above and beyond for a client.

Reluctantly, she leaves the warmth of her bed and puts on a bathrobe to cover her fleece pyjamas, which somehow makes it look even more absurd, but Bedelia does not have the strength to care. The bell rings again as she walks down the stairs; her mysterious visitor seems to be growing impatient. Or more likely, cold. She opens the door ever so slightly and stands back, stunned; the patient she has bid farewell to mere hours ago is once again standing on her threshold, this time dusted with snow and holding a platter and a bag.

“Hannibal, what are you doing here?” she asks, pulling her robe closer around her body in a hopeless attempt to keep her attire hidden.

“I was worried,” he looks at her softly, “You did not want to accept my invitation, perhaps you can accept dinner instead,” he lifts the tray safely covered from the wind.

Bedelia should be angry at this blatant disregard of her wish, but she is suddenly pleased not to be alone.

“May I come in?” he asks when she remains silent and there is nothing left to do but open the door fully and let him enter.

Hannibal removes his wet coat and places his bag on the floor, before going straight to the kitchen, being strangely at ease around her house.

Bedelia gives the bag a questioning glance before following his steps.

“Venison medallions,” Hannibal lifts the cover, revealing a perfect arrangement of meat, vegetables and flowers, “I believe it will go lovely with Pinot Noir.”

Bedelia nods towards her wine rack, not wondering how he knew she would have this exact vintage, and Hannibal turns with a smile, retrieving the right bottle.

“I hope you don’t mind if I set the table,” he pauses, looking for her permission before finding the plates and glasses in the cupboard and taking them to her dining room.

“I will go change,” she says watching him arranging the plates with no bother as if he has been doing it every evening.

“There is no need,” he pauses to look at her, then lights the two candles in the middle of the table, “You should stay comfortable.”

A smile pulls at his lips as he continues to gaze at her, no doubt enjoying her domestic attire more than any couture dress suit she has worn during their sessions. His stare makes her feel naked, even though she is wearing layers of clothing. But exposing her skin to the lingering cold for even a second seems too much of an effort; Bedelia nods hesitantly and allows him to pull a chair for her. Hannibal places the meat on the plates and pours them both a glass of wine. The candles twinkle merrily, and the delicious aroma of the roast permeates the air. The room feels much warmer all of a sudden and Bedelia realises she is famished; she was too cold to bother cooking earlier. Now she cuts into the tender meat with gusto, humming softly as she savours the bite on her tongue.

“This is delicious,” she nods in approval and Hannibal beams like a school boy complimented by his first crush. He watches her eat, taking clear delight in the sight before finally turning to his own plate.

They enjoy their meal in silence; Bedelia feels warmed for the first time in two days as she finishes her glass of wine with a smile, contentment spreading through her body. The snow begins to fall in earnest, white static obscuring all the windows, but they both ignore it until their plates and glasses are empty. The unspoken question hangs in the air, pushing the pleasant scents away.

“You cannot really drive in this weather, Hannibal,” Bedelia starts tentatively and this time Hannibal says nothing, merely refills her glass.

“I was not planning on leaving you alone, Bedelia,” he responds, and a different kind of heat rises to her cheeks. That explains the bag; she feels like she has been tricked in a way. “I will sleep on the couch,” he adds at once, seeing her dismay, “I just want to make sure you are all right.”

There is no point to argue; the snowfall made the decision for her.

“You can sleep in the guest bedroom.” She should be enraged, but the only thing washing over her mind is a strange serenity.

 

She offers him one of the heaters, but he kindly declines. She bids him good night and disappears in her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her; to keep the fading warmth, she tells herself. But as she lies down under the covers, she feels anything but warm; despite the layers and the heaters, her hands and feet are ice cold and she is unable to warm up. She has always been prone to coldness and now it has taken permanent residence within her body. Her back stiffens as she holds her muscles tight in hope of saving the last bits of heat from the dinner which now appears like nothing but a distant memory. She turns from one side to another, knowing she won’t get much sleep tonight. An unexpected, gentle knock on her door makes her twitch.

“Are you all right, Doctor?” Hannibal’s voice sounds quietly, muffled by the barrier of the door, with just a hint of concern, somehow sensing her discomfort.

She remains silent, unsure how to respond and unwilling to move, and after a moment the door opens slightly. Bedelia turns her head to see her patient standing in the doorway, half naked, immune to the cold it seems. She is too cold to appreciate the sight fully, feeling merely annoyed with his ease, as she continues to shiver under layers upon layers.

“You are cold,” he states the obvious and walks towards the bed.

She could protest, but it would be redundant, so she simply watches as he sits down next to her. He waits for her reaction and when she continues to say nothing, he slowly lifts one corner of the blanket and slips underneath. He looks reluctant to put his head on the pillow, watching her carefully, like a wild animal he needs to approach with caution. His expression makes her more vexed than his intrusion, but his body already radiates inviting heat and her own limbs move on their own accord, overpowering her stubborn mind. Hannibal lies down with his arms open in an inviting gesture and she curls up next to him.

Without thinking, she places her hand on his chest; she is ready to withdraw it at once, expecting him to flinch at the cold as her lovers always did, with her hands being even more chilly now, but he doesn’t. Instead, he places his own hand on top of hers, covering it with warmth. Bedelia exhales loudly with relieve, sensing the heat slowly unfolding through his touch and flowing under her skin and into her veins. Uncaring for any more pretences, she snuggles closer to him, feet following her hands and coiling between his in search of more warmth. A faint aroma of the cologne still lingers on his skin, sandalwood and pepper blending the scent of him, as pleasant and warming as his touch. Soon they are flush, fitting perfectly together, two pieces of the same strange puzzle, always meant to come together.

Hannibal’s arm reaches to keep her steady in his embrace and Bedelia tries not to linger on the sensation of how good this feels, how _right_. She has never enjoyed sharing her sleeping space with anyone. Until now. But this is different, she tries to convince herself with the reminder of her fading consciousness, nothing more but an emergency situation. As her body sinks into the comfort of Hannibal’s hold, her mind slips into nothingness, leaving the flimsiness of her argument behind. She falls asleep at once, engulfed by an undisturbed slumber.

 

The sun edges between the snow-covered corners of the window and Bedelia slowly emerges from her sleep, her mind fuzzy and weightless, her body as if suspended on a soft cloud. It does not feel like her own bed and it takes her a moment to remember the events of last night. Gradually, she becomes aware of her surroundings; she is still lying in Hannibal’s embrace, her cheek placed firmly on his torso. She opens her eyes and then closes them again; she should withdraw and put the broken bits of the boundaries back together, but she is unwilling to leave the comfort of his arms. With the final press of her cheek against his chest, she lifts her head and turns to look at Hannibal. She finds him staring back at her as he did last night, as though he had not slept at all, merely kept watch over her. The notion should be unnerving, but it is not; alongside the cold, something has melted deep in her core, allowing new sensations to float to the surface, unrestricted, instincts no longer forcefully subdued.

She presses herself against him anew, awaking her listless limbs. Her legs stretch against the length of his and he suddenly shifts his hips in a faint attempt to hide his erection. Still, he remains holding her firmly. Bedelia’s head rises again and meets his unmoving gaze, confident in his body’s reaction to her, but waiting for her to surely pull away.

Yet she doesn’t.

The new shimmer within her stirs afresh and she places her hand firmly on his chest and lifts herself up to kiss him. It is a mere brush of her lips against his, but it leaves him looking startled; this is not what he was expecting. Bedelia smiles faintly; she likes that look on him, suddenly exposed and vulnerable because of her and her alone. She kisses him again, a firmer press this time, and it is all the invitation he needs as his lips respond in earnest, lingering on hers, an intimate exploration growing fiercer as he urges her lips apart and she moans into his mouth, cupping her hands behind his back, pulling him closer. His body grows warmer as he holds her close, no longer hiding his arousal, hands moving with a different purpose over the fabric of her pyjamas in a gentle caress.

Suddenly, the kisses aren’t enough; Bedelia craves the heat of him, eager to make it grow and melt with him. She guides his hands to the buttons of her top and he obeys at once, deft fingers working diligently on freeing each one from their assigned spot. Slowly, he pulls the fabric away and she inhales sharply, expecting the cold air on her skin, but it does not reach her; she only senses his warm hands on her body, leaving scorching trails as he now maps every inch of her skin. His lips follow, more searing than his touch but unhurried in their caresses as he lavishes her breasts with kisses and licks, teeth grazing her nipples, making her arch her back, greedily demanding more.

His fingers reach the line of her pyjama pants, toying with the elastic and teasing her, making the hot stream of arousal in her core dangerously overflow. She moans as his hand finally slips pass the barrier of the fabric and finds the source of her heat. He traces her swollen lips with care, exploring and pressing, sliding into her one finger at a time, learning how to please her.

Her legs begin to tremble, but it is still _not enough_ , and she sighs, impatiently pulling his own pants down, then places her hands on his chest, pushing him to lie on his back. Hannibal grins with delight as she sits astride him, his adoring gaze followed by his hands, now exploring her curves anew. The hot, hard length of him presses more urgently against her leg, her boldness arousing him further. He groans, his head falling back, as she takes him in her hand and slowly sinks onto him. He stares at her in wonder as she begins to flow slowly, searching for the right angle, as if all his fantasies were nothing in comparison to the reality of her. She can almost see herself reflected in his eyes, somehow regal in her desire to burn, tiny drops of sweat appearing like precious stones on her flushed skin as she rises and falls, slow motion soon increasing in passion. He arches his hips to meet hers, filling her to the brim, eager to help her find her pleasure. She presses harder while he lifts himself up and wraps his arms around her back, head resting between her breasts. He groans loudly against her skin; Bedelia knows being this close to her is all he ever wanted.

Her fingers dig into his shoulder, searching for leverage as the molten heat within her is finally set alight, waves of pleasure turning into flames and blazing under her skin. The shared intensity of their bodies feels exquisite and Bedelia continues to flow, slowly returning to her senses, the fire spent and reduced to sparks.

She feels his hands moving to her hips, surely impatient to find his own release, yet he does not rush, but instead continues to focus on her, probing until he finds her desired spot again, making her gasp in surprise. They rock together, and he quickly finds her rhythm, like an avid student, already knowing the ways of her body. His mouth moves to her breasts as he takes her nipple between his lips and begins to suck, striking the match afresh, lingering sparks in her centre catching fire at a rapid pace. He continues to caress her breasts, not letting go for even a moment, while one of his hands leaves her hips and moves between her legs, fingers pressing her clit, sending the flickers into a complete conflagration, stirring an insatiable hunger she did not know was within her all along. Her eyes close and her back arches as the fire consumes her; she cries out loudly as quivers of another orgasm take her in its thrall. She grasps him firmly as he spends himself, waiting for the flames to die out, half expecting to find them both a pile of ashes when the heat retreats. But they aren’t, and the warmth lingers as their bodies slowly part. Now exhausted and languid, she allows herself to rest on his chest, and they lie entwined as the air grows still.

“Should I make breakfast?” Hannibal breaks the silence, sounding so casual in his proposal as though nothing out of the ordinary took place. As though this has always been the state of things, the two of them together. Perhaps, in a way, it has.

“Not yet,” she snuggles closer to him, as he presses kisses on her temple, secretly hoping that the repairman would not come today. She wants to cherish and preserve this taste of warmth for now.

Until it becomes their reality.

**Author's Note:**

> Just some tropey fun, I love any excuse to write more of them cuddling. And some smut does not hurt either.  
> Thank you for reading! Feedback and prompts make me happy.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Winter warm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16893954) by [Edge_sama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_sama/pseuds/Edge_sama)




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